


Come (Back) Saturday Morning

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Castle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were certain roles Martha Rodgers had taken to omitting from her resume, in hopes that eventually the world would forget about the relevant performances.  But of course she'd told Alexis a few of the stories -- and who remembers to swear an eight-year-old to secrecy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come (Back) Saturday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [normativejean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/normativejean/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** _Castle_ is the creation of Andrew W. Marlowe and the Castleverse belongs (more or less) to ABC Studios. This story is purely a figment of the author’s imagination, and may or may not reflect the studio’s and show staff’s perspective on the characters.

_The Castle residence, early evening_

Alexis was sitting at the breakfast bar when Martha let herself in, a textbook and several sheets of notes spread across the counter.  “Dad’s out with Kate,” she said.  “New case, something to do with chickens – I didn’t quite catch whether it involved getting pecked to death or tarred and feathered.  Either way, he says we’re on our own for supper.”

“And almost nothing to speak of in the cupboard,” Martha replied as she collected a bottle of designer lemonade from the refrigerator.  She peered into the single takeout box on the next shelf up, shuddered, and promptly consigned it to the garbage.  “Make that nothing whatsoever.  Shall I call Alfredo’s or Sing Kwan?”

“Tell you what.”  Alexis swept up her notes, tucked them into the economics text, and closed the book with a thump.  “Let’s go over to Morgan’s place.  My treat.”

Visions of expertly prepared salmon danced in Martha’s head, but she curbed any visible signs of enthusiasm.  “Morgan’s, is it?  Whatever this is about, it must be serious.  You’re not in some sort of trouble, I hope.”

Alexis laughed.  “Not even close.  But I do have a friend you ought to meet.  Remember you told me once about doing cartoon voices when Dad was really little?”

#

_The Columbia University campus, several weeks later_

Martha punched the 3 on the elevator control panel, and the door slid shut.  _I do not have stage fright_ , she told herself severely.  _There is absolutely nothing to be nervous about_.  Which didn’t stop her from fidgeting restlessly with her turquoise and silver bracelet and contemplating the schedule tucked neatly into her handbag.  _Two panel discussions, a screening, and a small-group reception – all featuring people I haven’t seen in years.  Decades, rather.  Piece of cake._ She stepped out of the elevator, turned left down the corridor, and stopped at the third door on the right. 

“Ms. Rodgers!  Welcome to CU-Con One.”  Alexis’ friend, Cameron Dawes, rose from behind a narrow table, a colorfully printed paper tote bag in hand.  “There’s coffee and refreshments in the green room, just next door.  Most of the programming is one floor up, on four – except for the video events, which are in the screening rooms down on two.  After programming starts at ten, you’ll want to use the elevators in the other corridor; we’re reserving those for featured guests and staff.”

Martha accepted the bag, which was heavier than it looked.  “Goodness, what’s in here?”

“All the loot every attending member gets, for a start,” Cameron said.  “We did really well for a first-time con – there’s graphic novels from DC and Marvel, comics and manga issues from a bunch of the indies, a couple of cool preview DVDs, and pre-release copies of a brand new video game for both Playstation and Wii.”

Martha eyed the young man wryly.  “My son will be thrilled.  And for me?”

Cameron chuckled.  “It isn’t all superheroes and explosions, I promise.  There’s an _Amethyst_ book in there you might look at, one of the mangas is from a noir detective series, and one of the DVDs is from the BBC.”

“ _Doctor Who_ , I presume?”

“It’s a sampler.  One episode each of _Doctor Who_ , _Sherlock_ , and _Downton Abbey_.”

It was Martha’s turn to laugh.  “Touché,” she said.  “And besides all this treasure?”

“Our program book, a bunch of promotional flyers, a pack of coupons and menus from nearby restaurants – and of course a copy of your schedule.”

“Which reminds me,” Martha said.  “As I recall, you have me for a video screening at four o’clock, but the schedule you sent last week didn’t say what was being screened.”

Cameron nodded.  “That’s on purpose, actually.  You’ll find a sealed packet in your bag with the full details, but we’re asking everyone appearing at that screening not to open their packets until the event begins.  All I can tell you is that what we’ll be presenting hasn’t been broadcast or publicly released anywhere since it was first aired more than thirty years ago.”

“Good Lord,” Martha said.  “I don’t know whether to be intrigued or alarmed.  Then again,” she added, “since the potential audience won’t have a clue what you’re showing either, maybe nobody will show up to watch.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Cameron told her.  “We fan types are suckers for long-lost cult classics.  Or for that matter, long-lost just about anything.  Plus there’s the whole _Field of Dreams_ vibe.”

“If you screen it, they will come?”

“Exactly.”

“That, young man, is precisely what worries me.”

Cameron merely smiled and twirled an imaginary mustache.  “All will be revealed at four o’clock sharp.”

Martha studied him critically for a moment.  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can torture, tempt, or otherwise corrupt you into spilling the beans early.”

Cameron folded his arms across his chest.  “My lips are sealed.”

“I could just open the packet right now.”  She dug into the tote bag and came up with a plump manila envelope.

“And spoil everyone else’s surprise?  But that would be cheating!”

Martha set a fingernail against one edge of the envelope...then sighed theatrically and dropped it back into the tote.  “Oh, very well, have your little surprise.  If you’re fortunate, the bloodshed will be minimal – and if not, I do have the city’s best homicide detective on speed dial.”  She hooked the tote bag on one arm, turned on her heel with a flourish, and stepped through an open side door with a hand-lettered _Green Room_ sign posted next to it.

#

As a seminar-style classroom it would have been large.  Rearranged as buffet and conversation space, with small round tables instead of long rectangular ones, it was decidedly on the snug side.  As yet, though, less than a dozen people were scattered through the room, mostly clustered in twos and threes.  The sole exception was a compact black-haired woman wearing a billowy rainbow-spattered caftan over black jeans, who was studying her program book with a decidedly bemused expression.  Martha eyed the vivid outfit for a moment before she spoke.  “Tess Morgenthal, is that you?”

Its owner looked up, her face acquiring a delighted smile.  “Martha!  You’re looking positively regal.  How long has it been – or do we really want to go there?”

“We’ll have to soon enough,” Martha replied, laughing.  “I believe that’s more or less the point of this affair.  Now tell me, do I dare sample the coffee?”

“I’ve had worse – though not recently.  But there are bottled juices and such in that little refrigerator, and the pastries are excellent.”

Martha collected a strawberry seltzer and two glazed chocolate-filled croissants before settling into a none-too-comfortable chair opposite Tess.  “So, how were you seduced into this voyage into ancient history?”

“Hey!  Careful who you call ancient,” Tess returned.  “I’m still in the game – lately I’ve been dubbing Japanese anime, and getting a few odds and ends from the PBS kids’ series.  Not much glamor, I grant you, and you don’t want to hear the hardcore anime fans complain about how the English scripts butcher the material, but work’s work.  And nowadays the viewers actually notice who does the voices – and look us up on IMDb, and track down our agents.”

Martha blinked.  “They called your agent?  Don’t tell me they offered—”

“Oh, heavens no,” Tess said, laughing.  “They’re too new and too small to pay appearance fees, and since it’s for charity, Shana didn’t make much fuss about it.  But what about you?  Not that I’m not glad to see you, mind, but most of your toon credits aren’t even _on_ the ‘Net.”

“Thank God,” Martha retorted.  “No, I made the mistake years ago of telling my granddaughter tales of my adventures in Saturday morning television.  She recalled them well enough to pass on to one of her classmates here, and of course I couldn’t refuse his invitation without mortally embarrassing Alexis.”

Tess chuckled again.  “Thereby earning you seats on a _Scooby Doo_ retrospective, a panel on ‘70s ‘one-season wonders’, and a screening of – oh, right, they’re not telling us what.  Unless you peeked?”

“Don’t tempt me.  I’m sure I’d flee the convention, and Alexis would never forgive me.”

“Oh, come now,” said Tess.  “Most of the shows were at least sincere about being cheesy.  And I seem to recall you actually liked that _Doctor Dolittle_ adaptation.”

Martha sighed.  “I was sucked in by the theme song.”  She paused, swallowing a bite of pastry.  “I swear, though, that screening – what can they possibly have found?  If it was something we both worked on, that’s a pretty narrow field.”

“True.”  Tess frowned thoughtfully.  “Probably not _Jenny Genie_ – there were only what, three episodes of that, and I think they only aired in Canada.”

“Pity; I thought that one had potential.  Can’t be _Doctor Dolittle_ – you weren’t in any of those.  Oh, dear Lord,” Martha said suddenly. “You don’t suppose someone’s actually dug up _The Casebooks of Clarissa Catnap_?”

Tess’s eyes went wide.  “I don’t see how.  I read somewhere that Claude Omara bought all 21 episodes back from the studio somehow, just so it couldn’t ever be syndicated.  How he pulled that one off I’ll never know, but it must have been expensive as hell.”

“Maybe his niece made him do it,” Martha suggested.  “You must admit, we were pretty hard on her at the time.”

Her former colleague sighed.  “I wouldn’t blame her if she did.  Talk about irony; we were the ones who nicknamed her ‘Awful’.  She was just young and inexperienced.”

“And those scripts!  We did what we could, but still....”  Martha sighed.  “Thinking back, I wonder if she even wanted the job.  Did she ever do anything else afterward?”

“I don’t think so, at least not under ‘Ophelia Omara’.  And even if she changed her stage name, I’d think I’d know her if we’d crossed paths anytime since.  Anyhow, if Claude has the video locked down—”

“There is that.  But what does that leave?”

There was a brief silence, punctuated only by the tiny crackle of glazed pastry fragments raining softly onto napkins.  Then Tess snapped her fingers.  “I bet it’s _Space Princess_!”

“You mean _Spaaaaaaace Prinnnncessss_!” Martha declaimed.

“Now who’s celebrating the cheesiness?”

“Classic melodrama, my dear.  Over-the-top narration is part of the charm.”

“And over-the-top villainy.  At which you excelled; it’s a shame the pilot didn’t sell,” said Tess.

Martha nodded.  “Live-action space opera with girl power – we were ahead of our time, I’m afraid.  I’m sure it would do better now, especially with modern effects.”

“From your lips to Nickelodeon’s ears.  Or ABC Family’s.  I could still pull off Admiral Thatcher, and you—”

“Dr. Ariadne Lorelei is an eternal figure,” Martha said grandly.  “Able to tap the boundless energies of the Perihelion Equations, to conscript the wills of the very stars themselves, she will forever be a menace to the Empire of the Nexus.”  She paused, glancing at the entry in Tess’s program book.  “One question, though.  Who is this Seven O. person, and why is he or she attached to our screening?”

Tess cocked an eyebrow at Martha.  “Who, I can tell you: only about the second hottest indie comics creator in the industry right now.  She had a two-year run on _Spider-Woman_ for Marvel that got a whole slew of raves and a couple of major awards, she’s doing a steampunk series for Dark Horse, ditto, and there’ve been a handful of stand-alone graphic novels from smaller presses.  And she paints on the side – the Didier Gallery downtown gave her an exhibition last year.  I missed the opening, but I bought one of her pieces.”

“Impressive.  But that leaves the _why_.”

“True,” said Tess.  “And I don’t have the beginnings of a clue.”

Martha pursed her lips.  “Steampunk,” she said slowly.  “And graphic novels.  Would she have enough influence – assuming she were interested – to get hold of the rights and do a _Spaaaaaaace Prinnnncessss_ comic?”

Tess shrugged.  “If she could track down who’s even got the rights these days – maybe.  Remember, that was Cliff Prentiss’s baby, the one he left Filmation to put together.  Only he never actually sold a series, and I think he might have gone bankrupt before he could unload the production company back to one of the studios.”

“Ouch.  Still, it’s a thought.”

“It is,” Tess said.  “Of course that would be better news for her than for us – you don’t need actors for a print revival.”

Martha raised an admonitory finger.  “But you do need their likenesses.  And if the rights situation is fuzzy, she might have to negotiate with us directly.”

Tess chuckled.  “Ever the mercenary.  You always did have an eye for the bottom line.”

“I had a son to raise,” Martha retorted, then glanced at her watch.  “Heavens, it’s almost time for that _Scooby Doo_ program.  I’d best find – ah, yes, room 418.”  She stood, hooked her souvenir-filled bag over one arm, and brushed a flake of croissant from her lapel.  “See you at four, my dear.” 

#

  _A second-floor screening room, some hours later_

“So how will this work, exactly?” Martha inquired.  “We certainly can’t talk over the film as if it were DVD commentary.”

“No way,” Cameron Dawes agreed.  They – Martha, Cameron, and Tess – were standing at the rear of the amphitheater-style classroom, at one end of the uppermost of seven curved tiers of seats.  Portable popcorn carts flanked each of the room’s two upper entrances, and true to Cameron’s prediction, most of the seats were full.  That, he’d said, represented an audience of just under two hundred, accounting for about half the convention’s registered membership.

To Martha’s carefully concealed dismay, this included entirely too many familiar faces.  She’d expected Alexis, of course, and it had been too much to hope that Richard wouldn’t turn up.  But her son had arrived arm in arm with Kate Beckett (“ _Jenny Genie_ did too run in New York!”), and even Detectives Esposito and Ryan had greeted her cheerfully (“Just think of us as a couple of those meddling kids!”) as they filed into the screening. 

“So where’s Seven?” Tess asked.  “It’s almost time to start.”

 “Probably her autograph session ran over; she should be here any minute.  And about the format,” he added, “we’ll introduce the feature, have everyone watch, then bring the panel on afterward for Q-and-A and comments.  Why don’t you two go ahead and get settled in?”  He collected two tall containers of popcorn, led Martha and Tess down the center aisle to the third tier, plucked a ribbon from the two seats on the left-hand side of the aisle, and handed popcorn to each of them as they sat down.

Martha eyed the two seats across the aisle to their right, also ribboned.  “For Seven O.?” she asked, gesturing.

“And me,” said Cameron, flushing slightly.  “Host’s privilege. Ah – here she comes now.”

The lights dimmed as he escorted the final panelist to her seat, then hurried down to the front of the room and scooped a wireless hand-held microphone from a small table.  Seven O. proved to be tall and lithe, with several feathers woven into long, wavy hair that was golden save for two vivid neon streaks, one violet and one green.  The neckline of her cream-colored tunic was a deep, narrow slash, and a golden chain-link belt circled her waist over the tunic, with snug black capri-style pants beneath.

Tess nudged Martha’s arm, whispering.  “She’s older than I thought.  Mid-forties, maybe?”

“Don’t stare,” Martha hissed back, paying no attention to her own warning.  “Fifty at least, give or take a year – but in damned good shape for it.  And there’s something fam—”  She stopped in mid-word as Cameron tapped his mike and began to speak.

“Welcome,” he said, “to a very special premiere event.  As we promised in the program book, the video you’re about to see hasn’t been screened anywhere – not in syndication, not on cable or satellite, not on the ‘Net – since it was originally aired on Saturday morning TV back in the 1970s.”

  
_“That knocks out_ Space Princess _,” whispered Tess, “since the pilot never made it to air.”_

“There’s a story behind that, but we’ll tell it after the video presentation, because with one exception, not even our panelists know what we’re going to show you right now.”

_Martha and Tess exchanged startled glances.  “If the exception isn’t either of us,” Martha said softly, “then that means...”  
_

_“...it’s Seven.  And Seven must have supplied the footage.”_

“What I can tell you, because I _have_ seen the two episodes we’re about to screen, is that I’m really glad to see them back in circulation.  In a lot of ways they’re just what you’d expect from mid-‘70s animation – the quality isn’t what we’re used to today.  But they’re also ground-breaking in a way, because this was one of the very first adventure shows where girls were the leads – and were allowed to kick butt.”

_Martha crossed her fingers.  “Please let it be_ Jenny Genie _....”_

“But I’m talking too much.  It’s time to let the show speak for itself.  Carter, roll ‘em!”

The theater promptly went dark.  An instant later, the screen lit up, and a moment after that, music began to play.  It was a half jazz, half kabuki melody, and as it came up to full volume, opening credits began to unfold on the screen, inside a frame of mahjong tiles edged in sparkling green fire.

> _A deep male voice, over a rapid progression of urban scenes: “San Francisco is a city of crossroads – and of mysteries.  From the crooked alleys of Chinatown to the heights of steel skyscrapers, from the bustle of Fisherman’s Wharf to the quietest corners of Golden Gate Park, puzzles wait to be solved, treasures to be found, secrets to be unraveled.  Among the most determined to face these challenges are four gifted young women – and a most unusual cat.”_
> 
> _Another rapid montage, this time featuring four teenaged girls: a tall redhead, variously wielding binoculars and golf clubs; a short, sturdy brunette with a notebook and roller skates; a black teen with round-framed glasses, seen first in an art museum and then in a bowling alley; and a golden-haired but otherwise plain girl with a book in one hand and garden tools in the other.  Then one last set of snapshots: the four girls together in a variety of settings, always accompanied by a large Siamese cat.  The final image: the cat by itself, its regal “you may worship me” pose somewhat diminished by the fact that its head is half hidden by the human-sized deerstalker cap someone has set on top of it.  A severely annoyed_ miiaaaauooww _precedes the narrator’s voice, intoning, “These are_ The Casebooks of Clarissa Catnap _” as the title appears._

#

“You know,” Tess said as the lights came up just under fifty minutes later, accompanied by a brief burst of applause, “that wasn’t as awful as I remember it.”

Martha eyed her quizzically.  “Loose plots?  Cliché-ridden dialogue?  Premises copied willy-nilly from _Scooby Doo_?  Are you sure we were watching the same cartoon?”

“What happened to celebrating the innate cheesiness?” Tess demanded.  “Plus, our characters were way more rounded than the Scooby gang.”

The argument – and the buzz of conversation among the rest of the audience – was cut off by Cameron Dawes, who was back onstage with mike in hand.  “And now,” he said, “let me introduce our featured guests, who will be sharing their thoughts on what we’ve just seen.  First, we have the voice of Monica Carrington – and more recently, of Selena in the English version of _Silver Star Empress_ – Tess Morgenthal!”  The audience clapped, and Tess nodded cheerily to viewers seated along the center aisle as she stepped quickly down to the stage, where she accepted a microphone and seated herself on a tall, long-legged chair.

“Next, the voice of the ever-dangerous Madame Kabala – better known today for her many roles on and off the Broadway stage – Martha Rodgers!”  Shaking her head bemusedly, Martha assumed a practiced smile and joined Tess and Cameron.

“Last and most definitely not least,” Cameron continued, “let me introduce our final guest.  You know her as the woman who re-defined Spider-Woman, the author of the amazing _Golden Gaslight_ series from Dark Horse Comics, and the only woman ever to win both an Eisner and an Edgar in the same year.  Now it can be told: she is also the voice behind _Clarissa Catnap_ ’s Jessica Jane Clemens – then performing as Ophelia Omara, the one and only Seven O.!”

This time the applause was more than perfunctory; the entire audience rose as the unmasked artist stood, face beaming and a trifle flushed, and briskly descended to stage level.  Before accepting her handheld mike, she paused quickly between Martha’s and Tess’s chairs, her words quick and soft.  “I know there’s a lot to talk about, but let’s do this first.”

Martha nodded, still slightly dazed at the revelation.  So did Tess, and in moments Seven had taken her place in the endmost of the high bar-style chairs, microphone held lightly in one hand. 

“Thank you,” she said, making shushing motions at the audience.  As the crowd seated itself, she went on.  “I do hope at least a little of that enthusiasm was aimed at what we’ve just shown you.”  A quick buzz of laughter and applause erupted in response, and Seven smiled.  “Oh, I admit it; _Clarissa Catnap_ isn’t anywhere near a _Gargoyles_ or even a _Carmen Sandiego_.  And until I got hold of the tapes this past summer, I hadn’t even watched it for Goddess knows how long.  Decades, probably.  But having seen it again, I couldn’t keep it locked up, and I was surprised to realize just how much I liked what I saw.”

“Locked up?” said a voice from the front row.

“Totally,” Seven replied.  “That’s the story Cameron promised you up front.  My uncle, Claude Omara, developed and produced _Clarissa Catnap_ – and yes, that’s how I was picked to play Jessica Jane.  When the network dropped us after one season, both he and I threw fits – for way different reasons, mind.  The thing was, Uncle Claude was mostly a banker as opposed to a TV guy, and he got mad enough that he literally bought the show back from the studio, film and all.  The studio sent everything they had over to his house in a couple of big delivery trucks, he had to rent a storage unit to hold it all – and it stayed right there till he passed away early this year.  I’d pretty much forgotten about it till his lawyer gave me the key to the storage space, and once I realized what it was, it took another couple of months to get it all converted to a format I could actually watch.  And the rest, like they say, is history.”

Martha nodded and lifted her microphone.  “If I may say so,” she said, “you’ve blossomed spectacularly since Tess and I last saw you – and of course, we knew you as a performer rather than an artist and writer.  Might I ask what drew you from one career to the other?”

“That’s another Uncle Claude story,” said Seven, “about where he got the idea for _Clarissa Catnap_.  Let me tell you....”

From there, the conversation rambled from one reminiscence to another.  Tess ad-libbed dialogue from later episodes, Martha found herself discussing Madame Kabala’s affinity for Shakespeare, and Seven fielded a variety of questions about the show’s more technical aspects.  In all, the Q-and-A lasted nearly an hour, and once the last of the audience had drifted out, Seven renewed her earlier request.

“I can so use a drink about now – join me?  I know a place just up the street.”

#

Within fifteen minutes, the three women settled themselves around a table at the back of a surprisingly quiet neighborhood bar two and a half blocks up the street.  Seven bought the first round – hard lemonade for Tess, a glass of California moscato for Martha, and a pint of craft IPA for herself.

“So,” Seven said, having drained a quarter of the beer in one quaff.  “I guess this is where you lynch me for springing that on you totally out of left field.”

Tess laughed.  “Except we pretty much deserve it, for having been total bitches back in the day.  You were what, fifteen that year?”

“And we,” Martha put in, “were twice your age, and should have known better.  Nowadays they’d call it _bullying_ , and we’d be lucky not to get bounced out of the union.”

Seven shook her head, looking faintly astonished.  “Wait a second, you guys are apologizing to me?  I was figuring it the other way around.  I totally didn’t want to hear anything you said back then, even though you two were the pros and I was the boss’s kid who’d gotten the best part.  And then there’s today.  I was afraid if I let the con-com tell you ahead of time, you’d bolt for the Hamptons faster than I could say _let’s ask Clarissa_.”

Martha chuckled.  “The possibility was mentioned.  For my part – however it began, there was certainly more tension than there should have been when we made _Clarissa_ , and I regret having nurtured it.”

“Seconded,” said Tess, stretching one hand toward the center of the table.  “Peace?”

Seven grinned, and reached to clasp Tess’s hand.  “Peace, and Goddess bless.”

Martha rolled her eyes at them both, but extended her own hand to cover theirs.  “Peace, then, thrice over.  _But someday,_ ” she added mischievously, “ _I shall finally declaw that pestiferous feline.  Curse you, Clarissa Catnap!_ ”

“Never!” Seven said, her smile widening even further.  “But now that that’s settled, we should totally talk about special features and commentary for the DVD release....”

# # #

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken as few liberties as I could manage with '70s animated television; some of the shows mentioned are genuine, while a few have been invented. Particularly detail-minded readers should assume that where Martha and Tess mention working on shows that actually existed, either the roles in question were small and uncredited or else the Castleverse versions of those series have slightly different credits than those in our own reality. 
> 
> Readers looking for the particular campus building in which CU-Con One occurs are doomed to failure; I've invented both the convention and that location out of whole cloth.


End file.
